The Indian Paintbrush

The Navajo woman saw beauty all around
She would weave the beauty she saw growing on the ground

Her Poles staked out and measured to height
on the Upright looms with no moving parts to fight

Her eyes would slowly look
to the subject she undertook

Her hands moved to and fro
A field of Indian paints row after row

dancing in the gentle breeze
With such ease
A fiery red they glow

she sat patiently weaving for hours upon hours
Glancing up and intently studying her flowers

The Indian Paint was her inspiration
To give her vision for her woven creation